Disclaimer in first part.
The Paninaro of Angry Weasels Named Flibble: Part Two
Jemmie Harnem gleefully flipped through his stash for that day. Several nice leather wallets, a few bits and bobs, and IT. He didn't remember which of the people he'd gotten it from, but it attracted him oddly. All red, veined with flickering gold. The chain it was hung on was a dull gold-black, but it hung low enough that Jemmie could wear it without anyone noticing.
Pushing a scrap of greasy red hair off his face, he quickly divvied up the money. One cut to Ella, one to Dory down on the docks, and one for himself.
He wasn't planning on giving anyone his new neck-wear. It was his, fair and square. 'Sides, Ella and Dory'd been fleecing him for years. With a nod of his fourteen-year old head, Jemmie pocketed the money, leaving the wallets in the trash.
As he stepped out of the alley, something made him look back. Straight into the eyes of Billy Boyd. Billy smiled, teeth missing everywhere. "Hallo, Jemmie."
"Billy." Carefully backing away from the man who was his uncle, he looked around wildly for a place to run. It wasn't that he didn't like Billy, but Billy didn't like him. In fact, BIlly had this habit of stealing his entire day's take. And meting out a beating as well.
As far as Jemmie was concerned, there was no such thing as familial loyalty. Hadn't been for years.
"Whatcha got there, little nephew? Having fun with other people's wallets?"
"Bite me." Jemmie replied. Then he turned and began slipping through the crowd, using the same skills that let him pick pockets to get him as far from Billy as he could.
It nearly worked. Except that Billy had brought a friend. Jemmie's cousin, Bob. Bob was huge, almost as large as the wrestlers on TV. Bob smiled and snagged a negligent arm. "Uncle wants to see you."
"He can--" Jemmie struggled, digging in his heels, darting his eyes in hopes of an escape route. "--go to hell. Lemme go! HELP!"
People around them ignored them, some looking disgusted to have their routine interrupted. Others merely averted their eyes and quickened their paces. Jemmie whimpered as Billy joined them, and both men dragged him into the alley.
"For that little insolence, I'm afraid I'm going to have to punish you." Billy smiled and began feeling his way through Jemmie's pockets. He quickly came up with the money. "Lovely. Now that you've helped out yer uncle, I guess I'll be lenient. I'll only cut you a little."
"No..." Jemmie struggled in vane, fear darkening his vision. Sweat stung his eyes as Billy pulled out a knife and began playing it around Jemmie's chest. "No."
"Yes, my lad. And you deserve this to." With that, Billy slid the knife into the shirt, pricking skin. Blood begin trickling down from the pinpoint. With a slow movement, Billy drew the knife along, playing, cutting deeper as he went.
The blood welled harder, faster, beginning to feel like a warm rain. Pain was there, too, tickling at him. Jemmie stared down, realising the blood was beginning to fall onto the still-concealed necklace. The stone began to flicker with golden lights.
"'S glowin'," he mumbled, as Billy cut another line in his chest. This time he couldn't feel the pain, as a sense of numbness spread through him.
The knife caught in the chain during the third pass, exposing it to view. By now Jemmie was near-unconscious from pain and the loss of blood.
Billy blinked and grinned, "Well, lookie here. Our nephie's been hidin' from us."
"Pretty." Bob announced, his hand reaching for it. Billy slapped it away, grabbing the chain and yanking. With a small snap, the chain slipped off Jemmie's neck.
"Stay away from it, you dolt. It's mine."
"Shiny."
Billy snorted, "I guess you get off light now, Jemmie." He held the necklace up, studying the stone in the light. "Seems t'be quartz. Ought to fetch me something."
"Shiiiny," Bob said softly, dropping the body of his cousin. Unmindful of it, he actually stepped on an arm as he tried to get the shiny thing.
"Stop that, you oaf."
"Want."
"Bob, I--" Billy's comment went unfinished, as a strange howling sound came from above him. He looked up, and saw nothing. A moment later, the sound came again, this time from the stone.
With a start, he realised that it was glowing a deep red-orange, the gold strands blazing. "Wha?"
Something rippled through him, an almost imperceptible feeling of dread. The feeling was followed by intense pain. His hands ached with cold, then hot. Blister appeared, burning as they exploded, leaving a sizlzing mass of liquid to burn into his arms and legs. The smell of burnt flesh was rather unappetising. With a moan of pain, he dropped the necklace, not even hearing it hit the ground, as his hands were severed at the wrist. The stumps bled copiously, and he stared at them, stupefied.
"Shiny..."
Billy screamed as something began pulling his shoulders apart. From the inside out, they slowly disengaged themselves. He watched in horrified fascination as his hands folded themselves on the bricks, his arms criss-crossing next to them. And then he collapsed, his legs suddenly smashed into splinters, as if a sledgehammer had gone at them for a few minutes.
The pain was excruciating, the sounds of tearing flesh and breaking bones loud in his ears, and then something sucked his eyes out. Blindly, he screamed again, a liquid, bloody sound as the same something pulverised his jaw and throat.
For a moment, the thing that had been Billy Boyd writhed in its own blood and pain. And then it was silenced as the howling began again. The howling wrapped around the body, then seemed to disappear, returning a moment later as the heart slammed outwards through the ribcage. The bloody piece of viscera flopped onto the ground and lay there, still beating.
During this time, Bob had been greedily watching the shiny spiral around the stone. Occasionally, he'd reach out and touch it, giggling.
And then he screamed as the whirlwind howl turned to him.
--
Pete cursed as he ran up the stairs to his apartment. He could faintly hear the telephone ringing. He didn't doubt that it was Scicluna. After all, who would be calling to ream him out for missing their appointment two minutes after he got back to his flat?
He slammed the door open and dove across the carpeting covered in bottles, pizza boxes, and assorted clothing. "Wisdom." He wheezed out as he finished collapsing into a stack of boxes and socks.
"About time."
"You'll have to give me ten minutes. I had a bit of trouble. Be in soon." He slammed the phone down and glared at it balefully.
The aroma from the pile he lay in hit him then, and he rolled, groaning. "Laundry. Must do laundry soon."
Once on his back, he contemplated a cigarette, then decided to wait until he'd *really* need it. The ceiling was cracked and stained, and, sort of scary to look at. So he sat up and began rummaging in his pockets for the amulet Scicluna had wanted so badly.
"Bloody thing. Now, where is it..."
He frowned as the first forray only turned up his much-abused lighter and fags. The second turned up pocket lint. The third... nothing. "Bloody hell."
It was gone. So was his wallet, for that matter. Trying desperately to remember where he could have lost them, he realised he must have been pickpocketed. "Damned gits. Wouldn't know a fuckin' honest days' work if it bit them on the bum. Take my wallet and cash and... Shit."
The information he'd been given was coming back now. About the little amulet. It was dangerous, highly volatile. That was why Pete'd been carrying it. The sooner he got it out of his own possession, the better.
With a groan he flopped back into the pile of socks. Scicluna was going to flay him alive. Maybe. Maybe she'd just shoot him.
Might be less painful, in the long run.
--
Jemmie woke up to a really nasty smell, and the feeling that he'd missed something big. His chest ached when he moved, and it all came flooding back. Billy, the necklace... the glowing. And something howling. He shook his head and winced, then sat up.
He nearly screamed at what he saw, he did gag at the sight as his mind tried to refuse to see what his eyes were registering.
Two pairs of hands, two pairs of arms. Two things that... were wearing the same clothing Billy and Bob had been. Next to the closer pile of humanity lay the chain and stone. He picked it up slowly, ignoring the rumbling in his gut as another waft of stench surrounded him.
Staring down at his chest he realised it was covered in blood and a few cuts. His shirt was in tatters, but still serviceable. Quickly wiping the blood off (actually just smearing it around a bit more) he replaced the gold chain around his neck and let the stone flop behind his shirt. It was sort of hidden.
With a last glance at the corpses, he stepped down to the back of the alley, and disappeared.
If anyone had been watching the bodies from the moment they were made, they would have been able to note things, now that an hour had passed. While the hands and arms were still intact, the bodies themselves were slowly beginning to decay. Mold growing in a soft orange fuzz everywhere.
But no one was watching, so they just quietly decayed at an accelerated rate all by themselves.
Pete Wisdom arrived on the scene about an hour later. The scent of burning flesh and blood still covered the area like a really bad comforter. He looked at the corpses with revulsion, trying to place time of death. A frown crossed his face as he considered the blistered hands and arms, still completely intact and whole.
Going by the bodies, the deaths had come weeks before. Maybe months. But the arms... He shivered then, looking around for anyone else. There had been nothing in the papers about his, nothing heard down the Crown. Therefore it was recent.
And hadn't been found yet.
Well, not by anyone in authority.
Something in the way they were laid out worried him, too. He glanced back at the busy street he'd come from. It was the street he'd taken earlier, on his way back from Ella's. If Pete was correct, it was where he'd lost his wallet and the amulet.
A glance further back brought a garbage bin to his attention. He stepped over the corpses with a grimace and walked back to it. Several wallets lay at the top, his among them.
He leaned against the bin, thinking. He'd gotten pickpocketed, then the person had dumped the wallets here. And taken the amulet... where? And had they--he glanced back at the corpses and blanched. The person who'd stolen the amulet had obviously had enemies.
There was the sound of a siren nearby, and he swore, then ducked back down the alley, heading for what was sure to be a back way out of the neighborhood.
--
With a sigh that nearly sent him coughing, thanks to the dust it had provoked, Giles found another set of floor-plans. Apparently, his predecessor had had everything useful carted up into the attic and left it to rot. It was where Giles himself was searching for information on the piece that had been stolen.
Having no other surface, Giles spread the sheets out on the floor, studying them. "First floor... Second... ah... Ground."
Most of the rooms were marked as galleries, and towards the back, offices. And then two rooms, one of them the room the artefact was stolen from were simply marked, "Magical Storage."
Something twigged at the back of his mind, and Giles was suddenly reminded of rumours about the Museum and it's "Magic" collection. Close to a hundred years previously, the museum had nearly been shut down by the church because it displayed things of a magical nature.
Giles pulled his glasses off and chewed on the earpiece. What had been stolen? Something magical? And he still didn't know what. The page was gone from the book--mysteriously.
Or mundanely. Someone could easily have removed it, considering the state the rooms down there were in. Giles made a mental note to change that.
"Mr. Giles?" The tentative voice broke into his thoughts, and he glanced up. Young Marion Lakewood was peering into the attic.
"Yes, Lakewood?"
"There's a man here to see you, sir."
"What about?"
"He wouldn't say. Just insisted on seeing the director of the museum."
Giles sighed and stood, dusting his hands off. Not that it helped much, since he was covered in dust and tweed. "I'll be right down, then."
After all, it might be someone useful, like a new investor. Right?
--
The streets bustled with people going to and fro, in and out of buildings. Some were in terrible hurries, others merely strolling. The sun shone brightly on them, warming some and blinding others who'd had too much to drink the night before. A small figure, wearing a tattered shirt and dirty jeans, slithered through the crowd, his head down.
Jemmie didn't know what to do. His uncle was dead, but maybe that was a bad thing. Or was it good? He shivered, unsure. Against his chest, the pendant lightly tapped as he walked. Sometimes it almost spilled out between the slashes, other times it seemed to hide.
It made him nervous, as if it were almost aware.
That thought made him jump, and he decided to find someplace quiet to sit and think. A small alley alcove came into view and he scampered between two businessmen on cellphones and crouched down in it.
Whatever had killed Billy and Bob was powerful. More powerful than anything he'd ever seen. For a moment, Jemmie imagined having that power himself. He shivered as something seemed to wrap around him, as if it wanted him to do something. And then it was gone as if it had never been.
He shook his head and stood, troubled. Maybe Ella Mae would know what to do. Besides, he needed to let her know that he hadn't any money today. A sigh escaped him. No dinner again.
--
"--I don't understand, how can ya do this t'me?"
"I love you, I do, but, I can't..."
"Oh, God--"
"No, don't cry my love. It will be okay. I promise."
"It won't, it won't, it--"
The image of two women holding each other froze for an instant, then disappeared as the television flipped off. With a muttered oath Remy LeBeau tossed the remote to the desk and flopped backwards on the bed. He had no clue why he was still hanging around London. Maybe it was the weather--sunny, mild, a bit of fog... Or maybe it was that he thought Wisdom might need him for something else.
More cash from the little spy-man would be nice. Especially if it got him another nice hotel room on someone else's tab. He smirked and got up to saunter over to the wet bar. The room was a master suite, with a living room, bedroom, bath and wet bar including refrigerator. The wet bar was in the living room, the bedroom off of that. Plush carpeting, lush comforters, and beautiful paintings on the wall made the place seem almost a Trump palace.
A sound from outside the door to the hallway caused him to pause.
With a slight shudder, the door slammed inwards, the boot which had applied the correct amount of force to do so meeting the floor as he blinked.
A blonde woman in business clothes smiled at him. It didn't reach her ice blue eyes. "LeBeau."
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this... visit, chere?" Rapidly scanning a mental database of individuals this could be, Remy quickly settled on Wisdom's boss, Scicluna. As the lady in question, it fit.
"Tell me, LeBeau. Was last night's raid successful?" She stepped into the hotel room as if she owned it, gracefully sauntering to the couch and settling down on the arm.
"Who's asking?"
"Don't be dense, LeBeau. I paid for this hotel room, and I can just as easily have you thrown out of it."
"Ah... Scicluna." He nodded, "We made out fine, bar the occassional late night worker."
"Really."
She sounded like she didn't believe him. Remy found it in himself to blame her--she might be quite gorgeous but that meant nothing when she was questioning his abilities as a thief. "Really, chere. Wisdom has the amulet, Cable's gone off to some northern place, and I'm leaving for Paris in the morning."
"Nothing went wrong, then."
"Exactly."
"Really." She shifted, crossing her legs, "Tell me then, LeBeau, why it is that Wisdom has failed to meet me, and the one time I talked to him on the phone he was none too informative?"
"He's been busy?"
"I have a better theory. I think you failed to pick up the amulet last night, and you're both covering it up. Those moneys that are in your account can be removed."
So it was down to threats now. Remy rolled his eyes, "Look, Scicluna, I be a t'ief, and I be good at it. We got the amulet. I don't know why he's acting strange, but he is the one in possession of the item in question. Now, if you're taking my money back, I *will* lodge a protest."
"With who?"
"Thieves Guild. They don't take kindly to contract breaking."
Her face gave away none of her thoughts as she stood, "Very well. It won't come to that, LeBeau. And it anyone has broken contract, it's you. But, don't worry, Wisdom will fry for it. You won't."
She stalked towards the door, then turned as she got there, "Oh, and I'll tell them you had an--accident. The door will go on your bill."
LeBeau shrugged, "T'anks."
"Good day."
As soon as she'd left, Remy let the poker face drop and tried to figure out what might have gone wrong. If nothing else, Wisdom was apparently in trouble. Remy considered for a moment, then moved to the phone. "Front desk? Put me through to the airport, please. Bookings section."
--
The building in front of him towered up into the sky, full and imposing. Wisdom watched it warily, wondering if it would kill him. Light reflected from half a dozen small windows, surrounded by tons of blank grey stone that was molded and chopped into various cornices and lattice-works.
With a snort at his mental imaginings, Pete stepped inside and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. He was here, at the library, to look up the amulet. After all, Scicluna hadn't told him anything about it, and now he'd lost it. Might as well see what he could find--looking into death-by acid, evisceration and other things would be nice, too.
After all, if the thing WAS being used by someone, he should find a way to protect himself against it. Right? Never mess with old religious objects. That's what an old teacher had once said. And then said teacher had gone off and converted to Buddhism.
Pete sighed at the no smoking sign on the wall and sauntered off towards the card catalogues.
It took him five minutes to realise that he had only a vague clue what he was looking for. He swore under his breath and wracked his tobacco-soaked brain, attempting to remember what had been on the tiny card next to the sphere-ical shape of the amulet.
"D..."
It had been D-something. Deede? Darla? Daorna? Daoine? No! "Duende," he breathed, then flipped through to the Ds.
--
Jemmie had wandered the streets all day, occasionally picking a pocket, then dumping the wallet in the gutter. The day passed into evening and then into night. With a start, Jemmie decided to go dancing.
It wasn't that he could normally get into a club. Not unless he was with a group, then he'd sort of get ignored. But he felt confident for some reason. As if the odd events of the day were buoying him along. Besides, ripped clothing might be back in.
The doorman barely gave him a glance. People danced on the floor, some groping each other. Others merely dancing to dance. Gorgeous women wandered here and there. Some even giving him a quick glance. It was enough to make him straighten and look cool.
Or so he thought.
She wasn't out of the way gorgeous. But there was something about her that drew him. He stepped towards her, and her flickering glance dismissed him as if he were a flea.
The blonde hair suddenly looked less lovely. Less strokable. Jemmie stared after her and growled softly. Unaware, he was gripping the amulet through his shirt. His hand wrapped around it tightly. It throbbed in time with his heart beat as he turned and stalked from the club.
In the doorway, he paused and squeezed the amulet through his shirt. It would be such a simple thing. A test, really....
Glancing furtively at the bouncer, he turned so his hands weren't visible, and then fished the small pen knife from his pocket. With care he slid the edge along his palm, causing a shallow cut, then wrapped the hand around the pendant.
It pulsed, glowing softly. And Jemmie was suddenly aware of a howling sound.
--
The beat pounded through the club, hot and insistent. People danced, ignoring the laws of personal space, pressed body to body, hands straying as they grooved.
#The first time we made love I wasn't sober And you told me you loved me over and over over..over..over...#
The techno beat in the remix slammed through the club again, followed by the repetition of 'over' until it seemed it would never end.
When it did, the song melded into another top forty hit turned into dance mix.
#Deny me if you think you can but I'll always--always get my man#
Pete sipped his pint and tried not to grimace. Why he'd ended up here, he had no idea. But after a fruitless day of searching for the amulet and information about it, he was at his wits' end. And thirsty. A nice drunk would be good.
A blonde with assets that were luxurious and nicely on display walked past him, and he pondered the idea of following her for a nice hot shag. A moment later he decided he'd better not. With his luck, she'd shove a fist in his face, knee his balls and leave him crying on the floor.
He drifted into recollections of the little brown-haired wench in Germany, then and so passed through several pints before the scream rang out.
It jerked him from a pleasant haze and sent him stumbling through the club towards the source. A young woman--the blonde, in fact--was writhing on the ground as blisters scattered across her body. Her hands were frozen in claws, and sitting neatly crossed on the floor, the stumps oozing blood.
"Everyone get back! NOW!" He roared, glaring the onlookers away from the woman. He knelt next to her and tried to catch her arm as she arched up, screaming. "Calm, ma'am, calm--"
"Oh, Gooood," she moaned, "Oh--" The scream rose into higher octaves, nearly deafening him as he tried to hold her, tried to--
With a sickening sound, her arms slipped out of their sockets and he watched in horror as they crawled across the floor to cross themselves neatly next to her hands.
"I've called the hospital. They're sending a lorry."
Pete stared up at the older woman who was watching him, pain in her eyes, "Lovely. I--"
The woman screamed again, her back arching almost in two. Blood spurted outwards as her mouth and jaw disappeared into a bloody pulp. Her legs suffered a similar fate, leaving her writhing in pain as she caused herself more pain.
And that was when Pete heard it. A dim howling, as if a thousand angry souls were flying around the room, screaming at the tops of their lungs. The sound was muted because of the club music and people shrieking in panic. But for a moment, Pete felt as if they were saying something, speaking... And then the moment was gone as the woman slumped, her heart bursting softly from her chest.
It beat for several moments, then disappeared.
The club suddenly dropped into silence as someone turned the music off.
A stunned silence.
Pete gently set the woman's body down, fighting his rising gorge as he turned blindly away, "Call a pathologist, and the police," he choked out, then fled blindly for the restroom.
--
Outside the club, Jemmie ran, feeling sick and horrible. He had... He had... It was all her fault, wasn't it? After all, SHE had rejected him. She deserved what she got.
Blood thundered in his ears, echoed by the dimming of the howl that came from his necklace. The pendant tapped his chest, warm and pulsing softly.
Her fault. Right. He nodded and slowed as he came to a stoplight. Her fault. Not his. After all, he hadn't known the blood would do that. Had he. No. Not at all.
Not at all.
--
Giles yawned and pulled his glasses off to rub his eyes. The day had been long. Once Shaw had gone he'd gone looking through the books in his office. Searching for any information on "Duende."
There had been none.
Of course, if it were a real arcane symbol, it would be in his books at home. Hopefully. Meanwhile, he'd been doing the paperwork that had stacked up with his inattention. With a groan he shoved the papers into a stack. The rest could wait until morning. When he was awake enough to be able to spell his own name properly.
The sound of a door opening far off caused him to blink. It closed and he stood, wondering if it had been his imagination. A glance at the clock confirmed he should be the only one left in the building. Except for the security guards. A frown crossed his face. This was like the night of the robbery.
As if that thought had conjured him, one of the men from the robbery sauntered into his doorway. Giles grabbed the letter opener and stood.
"Can I help you?"
The man drew on the cigarette clamped between his lips. "Possibly."
"Wonderful. Lovely." Giles walked round his desk to face the man. "I take it you're--"
The man held up something black and shiny. "That's far enough."
"Far enough? Bloody bastard, you held a gun on me the last time and look what happened."
A snort answered him, then the man stepped further into the room, "Yeah, but I'm not close enough for you to knock it from my hands." He finished the cigarette and dropped it, grounding it under his heel. "Look... Y're the curator, right?"
"No, I just play one on telly."
"Right, then. I need all the information you have on a certain magical amulet that was recently stolen."
Giles snorted. "So you can steal it again? What'd you do, go and lose it?"
Silence was his answer, and he laughed. "You did, didn't you. You stupid sod. You stole a valuable artefact, then proceeded to lose it. Congratulations."
"I didn't lose it, it was stolen."
"Yes, by a ragamuffin kid, I'd bet."
"Look, old fuckhead, I--" The man paused and continued, through gritted teeth, "I need your help. Someone's learnt how to use the thing and it's killing people."
"How do you know?"
"I don't. I just have this feeling--that when strange supernatural deaths start occuring the day I lose an amulet that is probably wildly evil..." The man shifted, his free hand clenching at air.
"Bloody hell."
"Fuckin' right."
Giles waved a hand, "And you need me to help you.
"Yes." The man replied grudgingly.
"Who are you?"
The dark-haired man lit another cigarette and shrugged, "None of your business."
"No name, no help."
"...Pete."
"Fine, Pete." Giles reached over to the coatrack and grabbed his coat. "Let's go."
"Where?"
"My flat."
"Why?"
"All of my magic reference books are there, of course."
"Oh... cig?"
"No thanks. Gave them up years ago. Tar your lungs, y'know?"
"Yeah, yeah." Pete muttered. "You sound like bloody Scicluna."
"Thanks. I'm sure."
--
"This is yer flat?"
Giles ignored the derogatory tone of voice and tossed his keys on the coffee table. "Look, Wisdom--now there's a fallacy--shut up."
The other man opened his mouth, then shrugged and popped a cigarette into it. He lit the end with a small gold lighter, then leaned against the wall and watched as Rupert began pulling volumes of antique books off the shelves.
It wasn't a bad looking flat, as apartments go, it was actually rather nice. A small couch sort of slumped against one wall, opposite it (and covering one of the other walls) were myriad bookshelves, packed with cracked leather and gold leaf. The fourth wall opened into a kitchenette with a small bath off of it. Pete guessed that the couch pulled out into a bed. A small desk occupied a corner, also piled with books.
Giles looked up at him as he tapped the fag on a shelf, "Don't do that."
Two fingers popped out of Wisdom's left hand in a gesture remeniscent of late night pissups and early morning hangovers. Giles replied by throwing a book at him. "Look through that. You should be able to read it."
"Wot--never mind." He knew what to look for. The same thing he'd been unable to find earlier in the day. A grimace crossed his face. More dusty books to page through.